


color me blue

by imperialstark



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Hook-Up, M/M, One Night Stands, Pining, Pining Steve Rogers, Pining Tony Stark, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Rimming, Smut, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-05 00:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20479925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperialstark/pseuds/imperialstark
Summary: 'Cause you're just a man, it's just what you do. Your head in your hands, as you color me blue.It’s moments like these, when the music they put on to drown out the sound of their moans is too loud, and Steve is clutching at Tony’s hips like he’ll disappear into thin air if he doesn’t hold on, are when Tony wants to say, “I love you,” again.





	color me blue

**Author's Note:**

> Norman Fucking Rockwell! came out, I listened to it and [fallingoffbarts](https://www.fallingoffbarts.tumblr.com) and I immediately thought that half of the songs fit mcu!stony so well, so take this rambly one-shot of Steve and Tony arguing/fucking after the mess that was Civil War. Friendly reminder that I don't own Marvel or anything related to it.

Steve has a beard now, Tony thinks idly, watching the other man from across the patio. Dark brown hair hides a jaw so defined as if an artist had spent years painstakingly crafting it out of marble. He’s wearing a Yankees cap, and oh that must _burn_ Steve up inside. “_Good_,” he thinks with more than a little vindictiveness. Underneath the baseball cap, Tony can see the tufts of hair visible have been dyed a rich dark brown. Even though his eyes are shrouded by a pair of dark sunglasses, Tony knows that behind them lie a devastating pair of eyes blue like the Pacific Ocean at sunrise. Tony would know.

Tony has to give it to Steve. At least he had enough sense to dye his hair. A small part of him hates how the dark color suits him. An even smaller part misses the way his hair glinted like beaten gold in the morning sun.

Tony knows he should alert the police or Ross or _somebody_, but something in him hesitates. It’s not guilt that makes him rise up from his table outside of the quaint little coffee shop, nor is it pity. Tony can’t <strike>won’t</strike> put a name to it.

Steve barely reacts as Tony plops right down in the seat directly across from him; his hand resting on the table clenches into a fist, near imperceptible if you knew what signs to look for.

Tony wonders where the others are and waits for a surge of red mist, or a gun or arrow or both to be aimed his way.

Instead, Steve raises his sunglasses so they rest against his forehead and there they are. Those eyes. Those thrice damned blue eyes. Tony’s not an artist, not by a long shot, but he wants to draw those eyes. He wants to immortalize them in charcoal and oil paint just the way they are in this moment, all fire and heat for such cool eyes, the flecks of green burning like embers in a dying flame. He wants to scratch them out with his bare hands.

“Tony,” Steve says, voice sounding gruff like he hadn’t spoken aloud in days.

Tony doesn’t say anything. Instead, he’s grateful he’s also in disguise. The paps would have had a field day had they realized it was him and had snapped a pic. Tony could picture the headlines.

**STARK SEEN WITH A MYSTERY BEAU**

or worse

**LYING MAN? STARK HARBORING INTERNATIONAL FUGITIVE**

Okay, they could probably come up with a better pun. But all the less, were he a religious man, he would’ve thanked God that he had decided to don a hoodie, sunglasses, and baseball cap himself today.

“No entourage?” Steve asks, pushing through the silence that had settled over them.

Tony arches a brow. “The same could be said for you. What, you left all the kids at home while you’re running errands?”

Steve, damn him, doesn’t take the bait. The corner of his mouth lifts up in a facsimile of a smile. “Something like that,” he says.

A year ago, Tony never would have thought Captain Steven Grant Rogers to be capable of lying. But now, as Rogers' bright blue eyes stare into the depths of Tony’s sunglasses, trying to see behind them, he doesn’t know what to believe. Steve could be lying. Maybe the others are stationed near the coffee shop, ready for Steve’s next command. Or he could be telling the truth. Maybe it was just him and Steve. Alone. Together.

Once again, the thought of calling Ross crosses his mind. Ross wants all of the Ex-Avengers of course, but if Tony gives him Steve, without a doubt the general would be jumping for joy.

Instead, Tony curls a hand around the outdated, clunky flip phone tucked into the pocket of his hoodie and asks him, “What are you doing here, Rogers?”

That devil’s grin drops just slightly as the word “Rogers” leaves Tony’s mouth. “Would you believe me if I said I was checking up on you?” Steve replies.

Tony answers immediately. “No. I don’t. Not in the slightest.”  
Steve sighs and says, “Tony,” and Tony hates how his Brooklyn accent curls softly around the syllables, sounding all too much like a lover’s caress.

“_Don’t_,” Tony says and there must be something hard in his face because Steve actually listens to him for once and shuts his mouth.

“You don’t get to drop in unannounced and say you’re just checking in. You lost that right, Rogers,” Tony spits. “You lost it when you decided that your will was more important than that of 117 fucking countries.”

Tony deliberately avoids mentioning Siberia. There’s only so much rage within him that he’s willing to show. How no one has taken any notice of them is beyond Tony’s comprehension as by the end of his speech, he’s struggling to keep himself from shouting.

“The Accords were wrong,” Steve says, a muscle in his jaw working and Tony wants to slap him. The only thing keeping him from backhanding the other man is the risk of breaking something. He should slap him anyway.

“And you’re acting like a man child,” Tony sneers. “And that’s coming from me, the resident authority on immaturity.”

“They would’ve limited our freedoms, Tony,” Steve tries again, and Tony is floored at the man’s tenacity. He shouldn’t be shocked. Tony’s sure that when the serum was applied, it amplified everything about Steve, including his stubbornness.

Tony’s ready to metaphorically and physically throw up his hands at this point. “There’s no winning with you is there? No matter what, you’re gonna think you’re right. You’re gonna think signing the Accords was to barter away our freedom and destroying an airport was perfectly justified and leaving me to _die_ was the right thing to do.”

“Don’t say that,” Steve rasps, unclenching his fist and setting his big hand atop Tony’s. “Leaving you behind was the hardest thing I have _ever_ had to do.”

Tony hates how his skin still burns at his touch.

“I should call Ross,” Tony mutters and if anything Steve’s hand feels heavier on top of his.

“Then why haven’t you?”

Tony doesn’t have an answer.

* * *

Tony doesn’t know how they end up here. One moment, Tony was damn near shouting at Steve for everyone to see, each word more filled with hurt and rage than the last, and the next Steve was looking at him with those ocean eyes of his and they were off. It wasn’t hard finding the nearest motel, Tony throwing a handful of bills at the counter, standing around impatiently while the concierge handed Steve the keys. Tony barely got a chance to survey their room before Steve was on him, lips rough and insistent against his.

Tony would hardly call it a kiss. Kisses were sweet, romantic things that left you giggling and breathless. No, this was a _war_, another chaotic battle that Steve and Tony always seemed to lose themselves in. Steve’s beard is rough against his cheeks and Tony wonders what it would feel like to have that same burn on his thighs. He moans into Steve’s mouth at the mere thought and Steve takes that as an opportunity to slip his tongue into Tony’s mouth. It’s nothing but a filthy slide of hot flesh against flesh, but it has Tony weak in the knees all the same.

He’s clutching at Steve’s shoulders like his life depends on it and Steve’s hands settle onto Tony’s waist, hot against his skin like brands. Tony bites down on Steve’s lips, hard enough to draw blood on an ordinary man, but just enough pressure to have Steve groaning. They crumple to the bed together like rocks tumbling to meet the sea. They make quick work of their clothes, tugging and pawing at each other like they’re teenagers until they’re completely bared to one another. Steve with his hair mussed and chest bared and eyes burning like coals is like something out of one of his teenage fantasies when his appreciation for Captain America went far beyond hero worship.

The green flecks in Steve’s eyes are brighter than ever as he places a hand across Tony’s chest and urges him to lie down. Steve’s hand is big, big enough to cover the sunburst-esque scar left behind by the arc reactor. The last time they were this close, Steve was driving a shield down into his chest. Tony remembered hearing the crack of glass and the grating crunch of metal against metal and thinking that his heart had been split in half as well.

“Lie down,” Steve whispers and for a moment, Tony pretends like he can trust him.

He lets Steve push him down and spreads his legs and soon Tony doesn’t have to imagine what it would feel like to have that beard scrape against his thighs. Steve starts out slow, pressing hot, wet kisses on the inside of Tony’s thighs. Tony’s breath hitches as Steve starts to suck a bruise into the meat of Tony’s thigh. He knows what it is; a claim. A reminder. That this little rendezvous of theirs isn’t something that either of them dreamed up on a night when the loneliness gets to be too much to bear. His cock is hot and heavy against his stomach but something inside of Tony _aches_.

Steve sucks another hickey, higher up on his thigh now and all Tony can think about in that moment is how he’s grateful it’s not on his neck.

He wants Steve to fuck him already. Tony can hardly take this slow gentle pace they’ve settled into and voices his displeasure.

“Hurry up, Rogers,” he says going for boredom, but his voice is just a little too breathless for that as Steve’s breath ghosts hotly over his thighs. “Some of us don’t have all day.”

He feels rather than sees Steve grin against his thigh before his hands surge up and swing Tony’s legs over his broad shoulders. A yelp escapes Tony’s mouth at the sudden change of position and his hands fly up to grasp at the headboard. The yelp turns into a moan as Steve licks a broad, flat stripe against Tony’s entrance. He licks another stripe, this time across, and another and another, unrelenting until Tony’s writhing against the sheets. Steve’s grip only tightens on Tony’s thighs. He presses his face further into the apex of Tony’s thighs and stiffens his tongue and plunges it into Tony’s hole. 

Steve repeats the motion and Tony feels as if he’s drowning, waves of pleasure crashing over him like the sea at high tide. He’s not sure if it’s because it’s been some time since he’s last been fucked or if Steve knows his body better than he knows it himself, but as Steve places a cheeky bite right at the edge of his entrance, his hands leave the headboard and thread themselves into the silky strands of Steve’s hair.

When Steve finally pulls his head back, his mouth all red and shining with saliva, Tony has the odd impulse to draw him into a kiss. A true kiss. Not that vicious battle for dominance that had consumed them earlier. Instead, Tony just spreads his legs and waits for Steve to continue.

Ever the man with a plan, Steve pulls out the bottle of lube Tony barely remembered purchasing on their way here, he was so out of it. Steve makes quick work of preparing him, drizzling the lube over his fingers and over Tony’s already wet entrance. The lube is cool against Tony’s heated skin.

Steve’s thick fingers prod at his entrance. His fingers burn, but the pain gives way to pleasure after a moment and soon Tony has a hand clapped over his mouth to stifle the cries that flee from his traitorous lips; Tony hates the little gasps and moans that escape his lips as the other man teases his prostate.

Shame overtakes the arousal filling Tony’s body at the whine he lets out when Steve withdraws his fingers. His breath catches in his throat like someone’s wrapped their hands around his neck when the head of Steve’s cock catches on his hole.

Steve eyes are brighter than Tony’s ever seen them as he slowly pushes inside. Tony can see the entire universe in Steve’s eyes. He can see hunger and want and guilt and something so raw that Tony has to close his eyes. Steve’s cock filling him is a familiar but not unpleasant burn that soon has Tony seeing stars behind his eyes once Steve starts fucking into him in earnest.

It’s moments like these, when the music they put on to drown out the sound of their moans is too loud, and Steve is clutching at Tony’s hips like he’ll disappear into thin air if he doesn’t hold on, are when Tony wants to say, “I love you,” again.

“Tony,” Steve groans, one of his hands sliding up to intertwine with his. Tony doesn’t say anything, just laces his fingers with Steve’s and wraps his legs around his waist, urging him to go faster.

Sweat builds at Tony’s temple as Steve fucks into him with rough, desperate thrusts. His grip on Tony’s hand is tight, too tight, and Tony’s sure he’s going to leave bruises when they’re done.

“_It wouldn’t be the first time_,” Tony thinks bitterly.

The cheap cotton sheets are starting to stick to his back, tacky with sweat, and all thoughts of Siberia and even Germany cease to exist in the whirlpool that is Tony’s mind. Instead he focuses on the sound of the singer’s voice, soft and sweet like stepping into a pool on a hot summer day. There’s a bitter undercurrent to her voice as the lyrics of her song sink into him and register in his brain.

“Hold me, touch me, love me, help me,” she croons as Tony rakes his nails down Steve’s back. The super-soldier hisses and burrows his face into the crook of Tony’s neck as she sings, “Be the first who ever did.”

Tony can barely think let alone form any words, his body and mind too overwhelmed with the weight of what he’s doing and who he’s doing it with.

Steve lets go of Tony’s hand and reaches for Tony’s cock. Tony throws his head back against the pillows as Steve’s big hand encompasses him, his hips rising up in time with Steve’s thrusts. Soon, Tony’s fucking himself into the tight circle of Steve’s fist.

Steve’s muttering a litany against his neck. Tony can’t, _refuses_ to make it out, but despite his best efforts, he hears the super-soldier say “I love you,” in a voice so ragged it nearly brings tears to Tony’s eyes.

They come at the same time, their hips moving together so fluidly like they hadn’t spent a year apart, Tony against his stomach and Steve inside of him. This time tears _do_ come to Tony’s eyes as the ecstasy of release whites out his vision.

There’s something wet running down his neck and in the midst of his orgasm, Tony realizes Steve is crying too. He’s transported back to their first time, both of them reeling from the aftermath of a dangerous mission. Tony remembers that _both_ of them had had close calls, and when they had finished their mission debrief, had stumbled back to Tony’s suite in the tower, stripping each other of their clothes as they went. From there, Tony remembers salty kisses, and fingers in his hair and love, so much love, in his heart.

As his euphoria fades, all Tony feels is loneliness.

* * *

When Steve gets up to leave, part of Tony wants to reach out his hand and pull him back to bed. Like Steve’s a sailor lost at sea and Tony’s the lighthouse meant to bring him home. But Tony’s light is broken and Steve…he’s convinced Steve doesn’t want to come back to shore. So Tony watches as Steve gets dressed, pulls up his pants and throws his shirt over his head. Standing there in his disguise from earlier, Steve looks and feels like a complete stranger. Steve stands at the edge of the doorway and their eyes meet for a split second. He looks like he wants to say something to him. Tony wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, kiss him, scream at him, or all three at once.

“Stop fighting me,” he wants to say. “The war is over. Come _home_.”

Tony says nothing at all and Steve disappears like a tendril of smoke curling into the air.

**Author's Note:**

> Y’all know the drill! Comments, kudos, and bookmarks are much appreciated. Your feedback literally keeps me going. For more stony/marvel content, check out my [tumblr!](https://imperialstark.tumblr.com) I love you guys!
> 
> (P.S, bonus points if you can guess which Norman Fucking Rockwell! songs I listened to while writing this!)


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